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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27719057">a flower and a kiss</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerobreaking/pseuds/aerobreaking'>aerobreaking</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>hold on, I still need you [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, F/M, Female Yuri Plisetsky, It kindda follows canon but no, Original Character(s), ohohohoho this takes place in a universe where the ladies are already jumping quads</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:16:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,765</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27719057</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerobreaking/pseuds/aerobreaking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuri takes a deep-dive from grace but refuses to stay defeated.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Victor Nikiforov/Yuri Plisetsky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>hold on, I still need you [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728439</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">When Yakov asks him to help coach, Viktor thinks it’ll be something simple, like maybe the intermediate class or something equally banal. He’s not sure why he thought this, Yakov has always liked to put Viktor in a pinch if he thinks it’ll help him ‘grow’. Whatever that means.</p><p class="p1">He goes into the rink with low expectations, he hasn’t been in the skating scene for about two years, ever since he formally retired. He’d been in Japan coaching Yuuri for a while but that all that had ended when Yuuri took gold in the Grand Prix Final and then the Japanese skater decided that he was retiring. They'd parted ways and Viktor had to face his retirement on his own after. It mostly consisted of vacationing all over the world and it had been nice, for a while, but then, like always, he began to grow bored with the predictability of it all. So when Yakov had generously extended the offer, he’d thought it was a great opportunity to get back into the swing of things.</p><p class="p1">He arrives at the Yubileyny sports palace early in the morning, coffee in hand, and his sunglasses perched on his nose despite the fact that it was cloudy outside. The halls of his old training club are mostly empty and he can only assume it’s because there’s a class scheduled right now. He pushes the doors to the rink open and comes to confirm that he had been right.</p><p class="p1">There are about eight to ten skaters on the ice warming up and he observes them for a while before he notices Yakov sitting on one of the benches, flipping over some papers on a clipboard.</p><p class="p1">“Hi uncle Yasha,” He greets sweetly as he comes closer.</p><p class="p1">“You’re late.” His old coach dryly says without looking up from his papers.</p><p class="p1">“I brought you coffee,” Viktor extends his cup.</p><p class="p1">Yakov rolls his eyes, “I doubt that diabetes-inducing concoction is for me.”</p><p class="p1">Viktor smiles. He can almost say he missed this.</p><p class="p1">“So,” He begins, sipping his coffee and looking around the rink, “How are your new students?”</p><p class="p1">“Fine.” He shortly says, “You haven’t heard?”</p><p class="p1">“Umm, I haven’t really been following the sport lately. Been busy.”</p><p class="p1">“Doing what? Drinking margaritas in Hawaii?”</p><p class="p1">Viktor clears his throat, “Maybe.”</p><p class="p1">Yakov sighs, finally setting his papers aside and standing up. “There’s some hope.”</p><p class="p1"><em>So nothing amazing, </em>Viktor concludes on his own.</p><p class="p1">He observes the skaters with disinterest, four boys and six girls, nothing about them really stands out to him, they all look as generic as they come, and just as boring.</p><p class="p1">“So you want me to help you with them?” He asks, wondering idly if maybe he should’ve declined the invitation.</p><p class="p1">“No.” Yakov says, “Not all of them.” He pauses and then he points to one particular skater. “Her.”</p><p class="p1">The girl Yakov points to is a blond little thing that looks so fragile she might fall to pieces when she goes for a jump. Viktor quirks his eyebrow, she looks familiar, but he can’t quite remember where he knows her from.</p><p class="p1">“Who is she?” He asks sipping his coffee.</p><p class="p1">“Who is she?!” Yakov exclaims, shaking his head, “Are you that out of touch with reality?”</p><p class="p1">Viktor shrugs and says nothing.</p><p class="p1">The older man huffs but launches into a rant anyway, “Yuri Plisetskaya. That same year you were off pretending to be a coach she won the Grand Prix Final, Europeans, <em>and</em> Worlds. She completely dominated the entire season. However...last season was…not her best. The first half was fine but everything else was a complete disaster. She somehow managed to snag bronze at Europeans by <em>one </em>point but skated with a broken foot at Worlds and completely missed the podium." Yakove stops and lets Viktor digest all the information he's been presented with then he continues, "Despite all this, I still think she has tremendous potential. She’s a real <em>gem.</em>”</p><p class="p1">“Mmm,” Viktor hums, that’s high praise coming from Yakov. But now that Yakov’s pointed it out, he remembers that yes, he’d seen her at the gala in Barcelona and then later at the banquet. “Wasn’t she being coached by Kulik?”</p><p class="p1">“Until last week,” Yakov gives Viktor a pointed look because everyone knows what being coached by that woman meant—what <em>leaving </em>that woman meant, “Now she’s Russia’s dethroned sweetheart. The girl gave me a near damn heart attack when she showed up at my office asking me to coach her. I was going to refuse. I didn’t want to be involved in the drama, honestly, but she wouldn’t leave until I agreed.”</p><p class="p1">“So what do you need me for?”</p><p class="p1">“I need you to coach her. I’m busy with four juniors and five seniors, on top of everything else. She’s too good for me to only give her a tenth of my attention.”</p><p class="p1">“But she came for you.”</p><p class="p1">“No, she came because she didn’t have a choice. I told her I was busy but she still wouldn't take no for an answer. Eventually, I offered to have one of my assistant coaches coach her and she agreed. I’ll be her official trainer on paper but I’d leave the rest to you.”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t want to be <em>babysitting</em>,” Viktor tresses, suddenly really regretting coming back.</p><p class="p1">“Do you have something more important to be doing?” Yakov asks tersely.</p><p class="p1">Viktor clicks his mouth shut.</p><p class="p1">“I thought so.” He snaps but then he tiredly sighs, “But if you’re really against it. I’ll find someone else.”</p><p class="p1">The silver-haired man remains silent.</p><p class="p1">Yakov shakes his head, “At least think about it.” He pauses and then as if he already knew the answer asks, “Have you seen her skate?”</p><p class="p1">“Uhh—“ Viktor clears his throat, “Well, not—not really.”</p><p class="p1">He can almost see the vein throbbing on Yakov’s forehead and his voice is loud when he asks, “Why do you refuse if you don’t know anything then?!”</p><p class="p1">“It’s just—Ladies skating is…a bit boring?”</p><p class="p1">Yakov looks at him like he’s somehow failed an open book test, “You…you really need to get your head out of your ass.”</p><p class="p1">Viktor rolls his eyes, it’s not any news that he’s never been quite invested in the Ladies' discipline as much as his own. It was just a matter of preference.</p><p class="p1">“Take the time to look at her work,” His old coach finally says, “Then decide.”</p><p class="p1">Viktor leaves the rink not long after that, he’d stayed a bit to watch them—well, to watch one girl in specific but he hadn’t seen anything that would impress Yakov. As the rest of the students gathered around Yakov to be instructed, the girl just continued doing laps around the rink, a pensive look on her face.</p><hr/><p class="p1">Later that afternoon, Viktor had sat on his couch staring at his ceiling for a long time, thinking about all the reasons he shouldn’t even bother with this girl. But something makes him turn on his TV, open the Youtube app, and search up her name. He clicks on the first video and begins from there. As the commentators introduce her he sips some of the iced coffee he’d been trying to get through for the past fifteen minutes and gets a little distracted from what’s going on by Makkachin coming into the living room to lay at his feet. He’s reaching down to pet her but stops completely.</p><p class="p1">The music begins playing through the speakers, and on the screen, Yuri Plisetskaya lifts up her head, her green eyes looking directly at the camera, straight to him, and commands his entire attention. It’s as though he’s been enchanted, he cannot tear his eyes off the girl skating on the ice, she reings the entire stage with her overwhelming presence but more than that, she skates beautifully—hypnotically. When her free skate ends, he’s stunned—stunned that for four minutes she had completely caught him off guard and made him eat his words. In just <em>four </em>minutes.</p><p class="p1">He watches the program again, his hands reaching absentmindedly for the notepad and pencil he kept on the coffee table. He goes back <em>way </em>back to find all he can about her junior career and begins from there, writing down all his observations. She has a good jumping technique, almost no pre-rotation on any of her jumps, and superb flexibility. And her quad salchow—oh, her damned <em>quad. </em>It shouldn't be possible that someone <em>that </em>small can reach that height and then execute it so gorgeously. It was the most visually pleasing thing he’d ever seen, better than many of the mens by a <em>long</em> shot. Yakov had been right, Viktor realizes as he watches the programs of her first senior season, she was <em>phenomenal.</em></p><p class="p1">But then—then come the videos of last season. At first, she still maintains her amazing level of skating but after Russian Nationals, it’s as though she becomes a completely different skater. All that ethereal, fairy-like illusion completely evaporates. Her control is gone, she fell constantly, and popped doubles, and before, because of her natural talent, she'd been able to distract the audience from the bad music cuts, subpar choreography, and ugly dresses. Now that the spell is broken everyone can see all the flaws in her programs. </p><p class="p1">He watches the Worlds video at the very end of his binge. It had been hard to watch and at the end of her terrible skate, Yuri sits at the kiss and cry with Kulik, her face set in stone. When she sees her final scores she doesn’t look away from the screen where her failure is being displayed to the entire world. She begins blinking away her tears just as the camera cuts away.</p><p class="p1">He stops writing on his notepad, wondering if there was any way for her to even come back from that.</p><p class="p1">Viktor thinks back to the girl he’d seen this morning, she had looked bored, skating around the rink, round and round. But she was there because even after all that she wasn’t willing to give up, if nothing else, Viktor could admire that. He rewatches that performance again, the first one he’d seen, the one that had captivated him, and can almost see the long winding road that would be ahead of him if he decided to take her on as his pupil.</p><p class="p1">He rests his elbows on his knees, letting his face rest on his laced hands, and thinks. It won’t be easy, not for him, and definitely not for her. Could he even get her back to the level she’d been on her first season in time for the next Grand Prix series to start? Would she be mentally strong enough to survive the crusade?</p><p class="p1">She’d done the <em>one </em>thing the Russian fans would not forgive. Leave Kulik. Even if Yakov was a celebrated coach, in the Ladies' discipline <em>no one </em>left Kulik and had a good career afterward. There had been girls that tried before Yuri and they had all broken under the pressure. It’s true he’d never followed Ladies figure skating consistently but that was only because in Russia there was a new star every year. Always a new sensation, a new girl with the expectations of an entire nation on her small shoulders, and Yuri had fallen from the pedestal. Hell, she’d unraveled before the eyes of the entire world, and the chances of coming back from that were slim to none.</p><p class="p1">He reaches for his phone and dials Yakov’s number.</p><hr/><p class="p1">Yakov had told her today she would officially start training with whomever her new coach was. For the past few days, she's been doing her own thing while he focused on his students. But whoever they are they're not here yet and she practices her spins in the meantime.</p><p class="p1">Yuri concentrates on the sound coming in through her AirPods, trying desperately to<em> feel</em> the music but coming up empty. </p><p class="p1"><em>I'm a bird set free,</em> she tells herself—or at least tries to convince herself. <em>You held me down but I fought back loud.</em></p><p class="p1">"Stop," A voice says so loudly she hears them over the music, she can't tell who it is immediately, she's spinning too quickly and the world is too unfocused.</p><p class="p1">When she comes to halt, it takes a split second for everything to stabilize but when it does, she's staring at someone that she never thought she'd share the ice with. She takes the pods out of her ears.</p><p class="p1">Viktor Nikiforov smiles as he tells her, "I'm your new coach," He tilts his head down to look at her in the eyes, "Are you ready to begin?"</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I don't want to die. I don't want to die.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. part one: a flower</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <em>part one:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>a flower</em>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri has always been asked this question: <em>why do you have a </em>boy’s <em>name?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The short answer and the one she gives when she’s testy is: <em>because fuck you that’s why.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The slightly longer answer, and the one she has to <em>jokingly</em> explain when she has interviews and has to play nice, is a half version of the truth. Her parents were expecting a boy but her mother loved the name so much that she kept it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first part of that is true, her mom <em>had</em> been told all throughout her pregnancy that she would have a boy. But it wasn’t her mom that chose the name and she didn’t love it either. (Hell, she didn’t even love Yuri as a <em>person</em>, so there’s <em>that</em>.) The one who was adamant that their firstborn was named Yuri was actually her father—a man she only knows about from stories and anecdotes she used to hear spoken in soft whispers between her grandparents. He’d died in a freak accident two months before Yuri was born and her mother, who didn’t even want to have Yuri in the first place, kept the name because looking for another one seemed like too much of a hard job to do. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Or so the story goes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Yuri thinks of her mother, all she has are fuzzy memories of a very elegant, very pretty woman coming for dinner to her grandparent's house occasionally. She wore beautiful, form-fitting, and expensive dresses that enhanced her figure. Her golden hair would be in loose curls and her makeup very carefully applied so that she passed the line from pretty to <em>beautiful</em>. The first few times she began coming around, when Yuri was barely five and impressionable, Yuri hadn’t even <em>known </em>the pretty woman was her mother. It hadn’t been until much later when her grandmother had very carefully explained that she was a much more important aspect of Yuri’s life rather than just a pretty stranger that graced them with her presence every once in a while.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s been…working,” Her grandmother had said with a bit of reluctance, “Pursuing her dreams.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Her dreams?” Yuri had asked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes. Just like you want to be a figure skater when you grow up, your mother wants to be an actress.” Her lips pressed into a very thin line, thinking about some serious matter she couldn’t talk about with Yuri then. “I hope you can…be nice to her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri had stared at her grandmother strangely, “Be nice…?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Respectful, I mean. I hope you won't think of her as a bad person for leaving you here while she’s off pursuing her dreams.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think of her as a bad person.” Yuri immediately replied. That was true. Back then, Yuri didn’t think bad of anyone. In her eyes, everyone was nice. “Besides she left me with you and deduska. She can’t be bad.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m glad.” Her grandmother said, relief softening her wrinkled face. “I hope you can…always love her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Yuri had been so young back then, too young. She didn’t feel love for a woman that only came twice a month for dinner and who didn’t spend any time with her and barely even talked to her. She had never even given Yuri a hug or a kiss. Looking back on it now, Yuri didn’t miss her in her earlier, and her absence didn’t cause any sadness. Or maybe it did, but it was too long ago for Yuri to honestly say. All the emotions she felt for her mother now were a convoluted mess of resentment and indifference (and if anyone cared to hear: hatred.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Yuri turned eight, and she won first place in the Moscow tournament, her mother brought a man home to the dinner celebration later that day. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is my boyfriend,” She said as she introduced him to everyone. “His name is Igor Utenkov.” After that day, he came around often, and though her grandparents didn’t exactly like having him for dinner, there was always a place for Igor at their small dinner table. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was a perpetually dull man, her grandfather would always say so, shaking his head he’d always say to her grandmother, after her mother and Igor had left, “I don’t know what she sees in him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Whatever her mother saw in him, it didn’t fade, for he kept coming and coming. By this point, Yuri was nine and it was around that time also, when her grandmother had her first heart attack. She had to be admitted to the hospital for a few weeks, and grandfather was with her most of the time. So Yuri had to spend those bleak days of that summer mostly alone in that apartment. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">On one of those days, there was a knock at the door. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was Igor, looking for her mother.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s not here,” Yuri told him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re lying,” He snapped, pushing the door open and making his way inside without an invitation, he called out her mother’s name, angry and loud, “COME OUT YOU LYING BITCH!” He screamed. He searched everywhere, opening up every closet, and every door. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop!” Yuri had cried, “Get out of here! I’ll call the police if you don’t!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he didn’t stop, and in the end, his search was meaningless. He screamed in frustration, kicking and splintering the door of her grandparent's room. She flinched in surprise and then, mustering up all her courage and using the adrenaline that had spiked from the fear, in her most shrill voice she commanded, “GET OUT!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turned to her, then, and anger—<em>hate</em>—flashed crossed his face, for a moment Yuri was afraid he would kick and break her too, just like he’d broken the door. But he stared at her and stared and slowly, as if melting off, his anger shuttered off. He looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. And to her unending surprise, he smiled, almost wryly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stepped closer, and closer, and with every step he took Yuri took a step back until her back hit the wall and there was nowhere else to go. He stopped about three feet from her. Looking at her from the top of her head all the way down to her feet. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That was the first time Yuri felt the disgusting, heavy-lidded, appraising look of a man. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri’s heart had been pounding loudly in her chest, she sensed danger all around her, but she couldn’t think up a way to escape. Fear and trepidation had her rooted to the carpet, turned her into stone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Igor extended his hand, and his fingers had felt rough against her cheek, she tried to pull away but he gripped her chin, “You are going to be such a heartbreaker.” He told her softly, “Just like your mother.” Then he shook his head, “No. You’re going to be worse. Because she is only pretty but you…” He looked at her again from head to feet, slowly, slowly as if committing her to memory, “You are going to be…” He didn’t finish whatever he was going to say. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Leave,” Yuri gritted through her fear. “Leave. Leave. <em>Leave.</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Whatever trance he’d fallen into broke, leaving him looking a little lost. He looked around the apartment once again, dazed, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just done. He stood there in the middle of the living room observing everything one last time as if this place had once been a refuge to him and he was leaving it behind. He left without another word. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As soon as the front door shut behind him Yuri had run to lock it and once she was sure it was securely locked her legs gave out under her and she fell on her knees, choking back her tears and shivering.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She told her grandparents about Igor coming in and looking for her mother and kicking in the door in his anger, but she didn’t tell them about what he said to her. For some reason, it seemed to her wrong to mention it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the incident was relayed to her mother she shrugged, “It’s only a door he broke, I can pay for it if it’s such a big deal to you.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her grandfather had been furious, “The door is not the <em>point</em>! Yura was home! What if he had hurt her? Or <em>worse</em>?” He emphasized the word as if her mother knew what <em>worse</em> was.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, please,” She had said, shaking her head, “Igor is a brute but a coward. All he does is stomp around. All talk and no action.” She had waved her hand dismissively. “I promise you that he will never bother you again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he hadn’t, he never came back again, Yuri had never seen Igor since then.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But the words he had said remained with her, even now, years later, they still resounded in her ears from time to time. <em>You are going to a heartbreaker. Just like your mother. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Just like your mother. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Just like your mother. </em> </span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor, at least, doesn’t ask her why she has a boy's name, instead, he just starts calling her Yurochka, because it’s cuter, he had said. Yuri very well can’t tell him to fuck off the bullshit since he’s—you know—a <em>big</em> deal. Or <em>was </em>a big deal. So she has to bite her tongue and pretend to respect him because he’s doing her a favor. (And don’t get her wrong, she <em>does </em>respect him, but like…he’s a bit of a drama queen. Yuri’s been following his career since she could read but it’s completely jarring going from reading about someone and watching their interviews on television to spending close to seven hours a day with him and realizing that he’s…fucking <em>weird. </em>Just the other day, she’d found him crying in the hallway in near hysteria because of a dog rescue video.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Immediately after Yuri walked out of Kulik’s office she did two things, one, turned off the comments on her Instagram and gone private and two, changed all her passwords. Email, social media, bank account, and anything else she could think of. It was more of a key smash than a coherent password, but she had to keep her things protected because she was sure—more than sure—that things would get ugly. Then she’d blocked her publicist’s phone number too, because that was another disaster waiting to happen and honestly, Yuri wanted to avoid it for as long as she possibly could because there were <em>other </em>more pressing matters. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It has been about a week since Yuri left Kulik and the press <em>still</em> won’t fucking drop it and ever since <em>the</em> Viktor Nikiforov was announced as her coach it only became worse.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then Kulik had gone and done an interview smearing Yuri’s name through the dirt, telling the interviewer <em>exclusive</em> information, “The medals got to her head and she became difficult to work with. The girl talked back <em>all </em>the time, if she didn’t like one thing everyone in the rink would know about it. As her coach I had to put her in her place and she didn’t like that. Then she had a bad season and then tried to blame us for her lack of incentive.” And on and <em>on</em> it went about how ungrateful Yuri was and how she couldn’t see Yuri making it to the Olympics. Then she’d gone on to talk about Viktor, “And while I respect Yakov Alexandrovich as a fellow coach, the Nikiforov child is simply not going to be able to help her. The only reason Katsuki Yuuri even managed to do well in his last season was mostly because of Cialdini’s previous coaching, not anything Viktor Viktorovich did. Not counting his motivational tactics.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Exclusive bullshit, more like. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Why didn’t she bring up the <em>incident </em>that Yuri had been so upset about? Huh? Why didn’t she open her trap about exactly <em>why </em>Yuri had a bad season? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor hadn’t made any comments about it to Yuri or even the press but she’s sure he’s seen everything that’s being said about him. She’d tried bringing it up once but he held up a hand, “Don’t get distracted. You have a lot of work to do and that’s what you should be focusing on. Anything else should be completely ignored.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Except Yuri couldn’t ignore it. She can’t take her eyes away from the train wreck. Her fan pages on Instagram are going absolutely crazy fighting with internet trolls, and people on Twitter aren’t holding back either. On Youtube, under her videos, the comments are all about how much she’s gained weight and how much of a traitor she is. Everything is just one giant clusterfuck and she<em> can’t </em>ignore it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But she tries. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri had been off the ice for two whole months waiting for her foot to fully heal, so when she starts training with Nikiforov, she’s out of shape. <em>Really </em>out of shape. Viktor introduces her to a new nutritionist and personal trainer and all four of them meet weekly to assess her progress. (No one mentions the fact that Yuri is underweight, or asks her why. It’s not a secret what goes on in Kulik’s camp. The fucking ISU knew it—and did nothing. Everyone just turned a blind eye to it because it produced results—and medals. And that’s all anyone cared about.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you have any scales at home?” The nutritionist, Valeria, asks casually as if she were inquiring about the weather.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“One,” Yuri muttered, fiddling with the gold bracelet her grandfather had given her for her tenth birthday and never took off. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d like you to get rid of it.” The older woman exchanged glances with her coach and trainer, “And don’t weigh yourself alone…one of us three <em>has </em>to be with you. Do you think you can do that for me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Fuck, </em>Yuri thinks in her head, when she hears her tone—as if she were talking to a scared animal or a fussy toddler. <em>They’re walking on eggshell’s around me.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods, agreeing, because what else she supposed to say? No?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After that meeting, she and Viktor begin working on the ice.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Show me your jumps,” He says and she almost wants to laugh hysterically. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not as simple as just ‘showing him her jumps’, obviously, there’s <em>a lot </em>of work to be done. And both of them know this. It’s no surprise to either of them that she can barely land her doubles and she lands triples with absolutely no precision. Viktor’s face doesn’t change as he takes down notes on his notepad. So, the next few weeks are spent on the harness because she can’t seem to do any jumps without falling like some type of novice. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri tries not to pay attention to the fact that everyone in the rink is clearly looking at her with pity. But fuck if she’ll let something as trivial as that stop her. She’s more than used to public humiliation, though she’s not exactly dying to admit that. Her triples come back, eventually, but the quads are out of her reach. She has an easier time regaining her triple axel than the stupid quads that everyone raved about. Not to say that her triple axel is <em>consistent</em>, but at least she can land two out of five tries. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’ll do without the quads for now,” Viktor tells her eventually after many, many failed attempts and bruised buttocks, “What’s more important is for you to do what you can with good form. A beautifully done triple-triple is worth more than an under-rotated quad.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor is more patient than she expected him to be but he points out every single flaw he sees. Obviously, it's not <em>fun </em>to be torn down to her bare-bones but at least she can actually feel herself improving. While she tries to regain her stamina and motivation, Viktor works on choreographing her programs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Any requests or preferences?” He asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“As long as it’s not Bolero,” She mutters, “I don’t care.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor smiles at that, “Well, then, I think I have the perfect thing in mind for your short.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You do?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, there’s a program I choreographed a few years ago,” He pauses and then turns to Yuri, “I think…it would fit you quite well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks at him curiously, waiting for him to continue.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You see, back before I retired, I had two different short programs that I came up with. One was Eros. It was about…love.” Here he stops, looking over Yuri’s shoulder and not meeting her eyes. “Well, both programs were about love but Eros was a passionate program. Since it was about love between lovers—or well, at least the <em>physical</em> love between lovers. But the other program was about unconditional love. Agape. The highest form of love.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Katsuki Yuuri did Eros.” Yuri says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor clears his throat, “Yes. It was a way to push him out of his comfort zone. He really wanted to perform Agape but…there were many reasons as to why I didn’t let him. But that’s not really important. The point is that I think you have the potential to perform it. The way I envisioned it, at least.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri bites the inside of her cheek. “What makes you say that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her coach lets out a little huff of laughter, “Last season you skated to Swan Lake.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri looks at him flatly, “Last season was the <em>worst </em>season of my career. I don’t know if you’ve heard.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I’ve heard.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Don’t tell him to eat shit and die</em>, she tells herself. <em>You need him. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But oh, how she wished she didn’t.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor must see the reluctance in her face because he shakes his head and says, “At least let me show it to you first.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine,” Yuri agrees. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s still a bit of a shock to her, every time she sees Viktor on the ice, front and center as he personally demonstrates how to do one thing or the other. There is no denying that he’s talented. He has that <em>thing </em>inside him. That spark, that talent that makes him one of a kind and truly special. It’s as though the Creator above decided that he had to come down from his heaven and plant in Viktor, while he was still in his mother’s womb, a one-of-a-kind, unforgettable talent. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But as soon as the music starts, despite her admiration, the first thing she immediately wants to do is refuse it. There’s no way. Just no way Yuri can replicate him. He moves beautifully, all control and tamed strength, every line of his body in tune with the music, and no a beat out of place. He’s mesmerizing on the ice, and the program is definitely one that reflected <em>unconditional love. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the music comes to an end Yuri stands there, by the boards, feeling inadequate. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So what did you think?” Viktor asks as he slides next to her, out of breath. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri swallows thickly and honestly says, “It was great.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But…?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well…” She clears her throat. “I…it’s—“ She doesn’t want to say it’s <em>hard</em> because she’s never been good at admitting her shortcomings but it’s not—it’s not—“I don’t know if it’s something I want to do.” <em>Something I can do. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s expecting him to scoff, or maybe even sneer at her, and tell her something along the lines that she doesn’t have a say on what she’s going to do. Because he’s the coach and he’s the one who knows best. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Instead what Viktor does is raise an eyebrow, “Care to explain why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hesitates, but Viktor looks as though he genuinely wants to know why. “I—the subject matter is a little…” She trails off not really knowing what word to use.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Intense?” He helpfully fills in.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes…” She says lamely, though that’s not really the entire truth. “You never answered my question, why do think this program would suit me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks a bit taken aback, as if he wasn’t really expecting her to notice that slip, “I think this program can really help you bring out your maturity. I know, I know,” He says when he sees her opening her mouth to speak, “You’ve skated ‘mature’ programs before. But they all fall empty. I think you’re good at pretending, you even had me fooled for a while, but when I saw you butcher Swan Lake I realized that you just replicate the choreography and you are so <em>good </em>at it. So good that people don’t realize just how empty <em>you </em>are.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri purses her lips, uneasiness making her shift her weight from foot to foot. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s as though you are an empty vessel, cracked at the bottom, and everything just flows through you, but never <em>stays </em>with you. And who knows, maybe this program will be just like the others, you’ll just replicate me, but you’d still do it better than anyone else. But if you did it, and it <em>stayed </em>with you, then I feel as though you’d find that piece of yourself that you’ve been missing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn’t like what he’s implying, so she bites down on her tongue, <em>you don’t know shit about me, </em>she could scream, <em>shut the fuck up. </em>But again she remembers that she needs him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re angry,” He observes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes her head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay to be angry.” He says quietly, standing in front of her and shielding her from the rest of the rink. Around them, Yakov’s other students are practicing their programs. She feels bitterness settle in the mouth of her stomach. <em>This man is so stupid. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Yuri feels that she can speak without saying something she’ll regret she grits, “It’s just a choreography. It’s not going to magically heal me of whatever it is you’re implying.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor crosses his arms this time, “You’re right. It’s not supposed to. But next year is the pre-Olympic season and if you want a spot on the national team, you’re going to have to rely on something other than your quads, seeing as you can’t even do even one as of yet.” The jab cuts deeper than Yuri would like but he’s right. And she hates that he’s right.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine,” She finally says, looking down at the ice and refusing to meet his eyes. “I guess I can…try.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great!” Viktor jovially says, clapping his hands together, “Now let's get to work.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What about the free?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I have something in mind for that too. But…that’s a discussion for another day when you are not so grumpy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri rolls her eyes when she’s sure he can't see her and mutters under her breath, “Whatever.”</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A month and a half into her training under Nikiforov and the disaster she’s been waiting for finally shows up at the rink. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri feels the hairs on her neck stand on end when she sees her publicist standing by the boards, her arms crossed, and her lips set into a thin, unimpressed line. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She stops in the middle of practicing her step sequence and curls her palms into fists.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll be right back,” Yuri tells Viktor, not bothering to stop and wait for him to give her an approval. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Elena opens her mouth as soon as Yuri steps out of the ice and snaps on her skate guards but before she can start Yuri snaps, “<em>Not</em> here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The older woman looks around, the curious eyes of onlookers on her, and she nods. If nothing else, Yuri is glad that she is able to read a room. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As soon as they’re in the hallway, Elena asks, “Why haven’t you picked up any of my calls?”<br/></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because I fired you,” Yuri mutters, sitting on one of the benches.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You sure would like to have that type of power, wouldn’t you?” She smiles, almost mockingly, “Go get your things, we’re leaving.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m in the middle of training.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Training?” Elena gasps as if in shock, “What training? All I see here is a circus! I’ve already spoken with Kulik, if you go back and apologize she’s willing to give you a second chance.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not going back.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Yes. </em>You are.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I’m not. And you can’t tell me what to do. So leave.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You…” Elena begins, in that tone of suppressed anger of hers, “What the <em>hell </em>do you think you’ve accomplished by doing all of this? Do you think you can get to the Olympics with a lackluster coaching team? I have worked so hard for you to get where you are and you just throw it all away? Just like that, huh? Like it’s that easy.” Yuri already has this speech memorized, Elena has recited it so many times over the course of so many years that Yuri prefers to zone out once she starts. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She keeps going and going about the same bullshit again as if Yuri cared about her opinions. As if she had <em>ever</em> cared. Her voice echoes in the empty hallways and normally Yuri wouldn’t care but she’s tired of hearing her shrill voice.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“—the interviews and the shame—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“—Just shut <em>up.</em>” Yuri interrupts, covering her eyes with one of her hands, “Fuck, you’re giving me a headache.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Elena gasps in indignation and she seems to be ready to take in a deep breath to go on another tangent when someone interrupts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello!” Viktor’s high-pitched voice greets, coming closer to them, as he gives them a huge smile and claps his hands together, “I was wondering why you were taking so long, Yurochka,” He tells Yuri, giving her a quick glance but then turning his attention to Elena, “But I see that you’re busy keeping this lovely young lady’s attention all to yourself!” He gives Elena a flirtatious smile, and Yuri has to resist the urge to gag, “I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Viktor Viktorovich Nikiforov.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The change in Elena is instant, and if Yuri hadn’t known her for as long as she had, she’d almost be impressed. “Oh, hello,” Elena said, her voice sweet and airy, “It is <em>such </em>an honor to meet you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The honor is all mine,” He returned, an easy smile on his face and really, Yuri’s lunch was about to end up on the floor if they kept this up. “I think it’s such a cruel trick of fate that I have never crossed paths with you before Mrs…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Elena,” The woman says, “Elena Nikolaevna Plisetskaya. I’m Yuri’s—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“—publicist—“ </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“—mother.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor’s eyes flicker between them, a confused look on his face and Elena looks at Yuri sharply, her smile a bit strained. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s my publicist.” Yuri says before the awkward silence extends more, “And…also…my mother.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah,” Viktor nods, looking at Elena, “I can see the resemblance. Though you look more like sisters, rather than mother and daughter.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Elena smiles, satisfied Viktor is stroking her ego, “Yes, it’s something we hear all the time.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri looks at her silently, as Viktor continues talking, “I’m glad we finally have the chance to talk. Yuri is such a talented skater, working with her is a delight.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, that’s quite surprising to hear! It must be because she’s trying to impress you. She’s always been an indocile girl, you know? Her coaches have always had a hard time getting her to follow directions.” The jabs she makes don’t sound so bad when she says them in such a sweet voice but Yuri knows exactly what she’s doing. Elena sighs a little sadly, “Sometimes, it shocks me. We’ve passed many embarrassments because of her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri feels her face grow hot and how she wishes to spit on her face. She lowers her head instead, biting the inside of her cheek with so much force she thinks she’s going to start bleeding. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, you can’t mean that,” Viktor tells her, his voice dropping an octave, “You must be proud of all her accomplishments.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course! Of course! She’s an amazing skater and I love her very much.” She looks around the hall, “So you must understand, that because I love her, I want the best for her. And this…arrangement that she’s cajoled coach Yakov Alexandrovich and you into is simply not ideal for anyone. She’s wasting everyone's time and efforts. So I’m here to collect her and put a stop to her childish tantrums.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s not throwing any tantrums,” Viktor cooly says, “So I suppose that maybe <em>this </em>is the ideal arrangement.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Elena’s smile thins, “I don’t want to contradict you, but I think I know what’s best for my daughter.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And I don’t want to contradict <em>you </em>but I think I know what’s best for my student.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri watches their exchange a bit stupefied, mostly because neither of them has lost their smiles, and their stances are both relaxed, but the dark aura they both emit is so dark she can almost see it above them. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They stare each other down for what seems like an eternity and it seems as though they would continue but Yuri finally decides to step in, “I’m not going with you Elena. You should leave.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Elena turns her face slowly towards Yuri and her eyes narrow, and Yuri knows that look, it's the look that means that this isn't over but she doesn't want to have an audience so she'll let it drop for now. She releases a sigh, and her entire demeanor changes again, “I’m sorry, my dear.” She looks to Viktor and lowers her head slightly, “I’m sorry to you too, Viktor Viktorovich. She is my only daughter, you must understand that I only want the best of her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I understand,” Viktor says, nodding.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I think I should go, and we’ll revisit this conversation when we have time to sit down and speak about it in detail. For now,” She turns her eyes to Yuri, “You should train as best you can.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What a lovely lady your mother is,” Viktor says, when Elena has disappeared around the corner, his voice is light so she can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not, “If she weren’t the mother of my student I would ask her out on a date.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Without really thinking Yuri blurts, “Aren’t you gay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor’s eyebrows shoot up and Yuri wants to snatch the words out of the air. For the second time that hour she feels her face heat up in embarrassment, but it’s not like it’s a secret. He kissed a man on live television, did he think the whole world didn’t see that? For a time, he’d even been <em>engaged </em>to Katsuki Yuuri. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor clears his throat and she thinks he’s going to let the question go unanswered but instead he looks down at her, tilting his head, “I can’t like both?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri shrugs, her shoulders relaxing, “I guess. But she’s off-limits.” She pauses, “Because she’s a leech and she’d bleed you dry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gapes now, “Don’t say such things. She’s still your mother.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes her head, “Just because she gave birth to me doesn’t mean she’s worthy of the title of mother.” It’s nice to say that out loud because she’s had the thought on her head for a long time now but there had never been someone to tell. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks at her very carefully, as if trying to read her mind, but then he seems to think better of it. Instead, he says, “Let's go back, we’ve wasted enough ice time.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She follows after him without another word, thankful he had been there to deescalate the situation that surely would have ended up worse if Yuri had been the one to solely handle it.</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri had been with Kulik for five years, and at first, it hadn’t been that bad. She was weighted multiple times a day and told to eat only the calories necessary to function but it had been manageable, despite the perpetual unsatisfaction she felt. Her junior career had been a great one, in every competition she participated in, she was never off the podium. Those years Yuri had been blessed with a small frame, only one hundred and sixty centimeters, and hypermobility that she made sure to keep at its peak. Never skipping out on her one-hour daily stretch. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But like all girls, once she reached the age of fifteen, her body changed. She didn’t grow taller, but her breasts filled out, her hips widened, and she wasn’t as light as she used to be, and well, that meant that she was slowly outgrowing Kulik’s methods. But Yuri didn’t want to give up her dreams. So rather than change the methods, she began to eat less. First, dinner had to go but it quickly became apparent that it wasn’t enough, so breakfast had to go too. Her sacrifices paid off because she won everything there was to win that year of her senior debut. All that was left was the Olympic gold she’s always wanted. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So she stopped eating all together the next season, surviving on celery sticks and protein shakes but this wasn’t sustainable, and after Russian Nationals and…well, the incident, everything just plummeted out of her control. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She had two devils whispering in her ears, <em>do this, do that, no like this, no this way. </em>This <em>way. I </em>said <em>like this. Are you </em>listening<em>?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They stretched her so thin, that something had to give. Something had to break. Yuri ended her second senior season in defeat. Seventh place in Worlds. Humiliating enough for her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I stayed up all night to see you,” Her grandfather’s voice said through the phone when she called, “I’m very proud of you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s there to be proud of?” She bitterly asked, “I didn’t even touch the podium.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Life’s more than just winning medals my dear Yurochka.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She breathed in deeply away from the receiver, changing the subject, “How are you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m well. It’s been a bit chilly here but summer is just around the corner.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll visit as soon as I get back.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For how long?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A day…maybe.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She could almost see his disappointed face, “Well, if that’s all you can manage.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you think I should retire?” Yuri asked suddenly, coming back to the conversation she wanted to avoid. “Is my time over?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Retire?” He asked bewildered, “Yura, your time has barely begun.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—I’m not as good as I used to be. I’m regressing rather than improving.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He remained silent on the other line, “Then maybe what you need is a change.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rubbed her forehead, “What type of change?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A change. Just…a change. I don’t know what…only you know. I’m sure <em>you </em>know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She did know, the idea had been floating around in her head for a while. But the fallout would be…a lot. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whatever you decide, I will always be by your side.” He said when Yuri had let the silence stretch too long. “I will always, <em>always </em>be by your side.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hearing his comforting voice, right by her ear, just as she used to when she was little and would crawl into bed with him because she had a nightmare, made her steel her resolve. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Actually, you know what? I think…I can stay with you for more than a day. A week. Two weeks.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m always here, my dear. Always waiting for you. I’ll make you pirozhki.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri still remembers biting into that pirozhki he had promised her when she came home, as she watched the news. It had tasted so delicious, so unbelievably delicious that she didn’t know how she could have gone <em>two years </em>without eating them. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her grandfather had smiled at her, pleased to see her cheeks stuffed with food.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Yuri had come home from her meeting with Valeria, the first time, she’d said, “I have a new eating menu.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s looked at her for a moment and then asked, “Can I see it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She handed it to him and as he looked it over his eyes lit up, “I will make it for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t have to,” She began to protest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re right, I don’t but I want to.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Every day, he would pack her lunch, with a snack for the morning and the afternoon, following to the dot what her nutritionist recommended, and every day when she arrived home, dinner would always be ready. The first few weeks Yuri ate everything that he handed to her, but after a while, it seemed to her that it was too much food. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She cut out the snack from the morning. She kept the one for the afternoon. </span>
  <span class="s1">And she made sure to throw away the scale that for so long resided in her bathroom. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After much deliberation, she uninstalls all social media apps from her phone. She doesn’t want to lose her focus, and the bad habit she has of constantly checking what’s being said about her is wearing her down. Viktor looks pleased when she tells him, “Great, that means you’ll be fully focused now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Was I distracted before?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nodded, “Very distracted. I don’t think you know just how much.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The days pass fast, she’s busy, very busy, especially since Viktor has been hammering the choreography of Agape into her bones she thinks she can do it while asleep. She’s been avoiding her mother, though she still calls frequently and Yuri lets her phone calls go unanswered, they haven’t had that ‘sit down’ moment as of yet. And if Yuri has it her way they never will.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In May, Viktor finally thinks it’s a good time to begin working on her free. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Meet me at the Mariinsky theater at five,” He tells her out of the blue one Saturday morning. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s a surprise!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The surprise turns out to be Lilia Baranovskaya, and she brings with her a different type of hell. One that Yuri is familiar with but she would still punch Viktor for bringing in a <em>prima ballerina</em> to help her if she could. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hi everyone, sorry this has taken so long. but I've been thinking a lot about this story lately and the more I write the more and more it expands. lolol. the updates might be a bit slow, but i hope you can stick it out with me until the end.<br/>anyway, see you next time!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. part one: a flower</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">part one:</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">a flower (ii)</span> </em>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the winter of Yuri’s ninth year, two things happen that alter her life. They happen almost simultaneously, and it leaves her ungrounded—completely in the air. The first is, her grandmother has her second and final heart attack. Dedushka is left utterly desolate, he becomes a stranger in Yuri’s eyes. She had never seen him so unlike himself. When they’re given the news the blood drains from his face and his legs give out under him, Yuri, who had been holding his hand, is dragged down with him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She had stared into his face as tears poured out of his eyes and he opened his mouth, seeming as though he wanted to scream but no sound released itself from his throat. The doctor tries to say something to comfort him but it’s useless. His sorrow is too deep, too close to his heart, and it would last months—<em>years. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After the funeral they go home to a quiet and lonely apartment; the silence had been almost unbearable. Her grandfather had sat in his armchair and for hours, that slowly mounted into days, did not move from that spot. Yuri understands—but at the same time doesn’t. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Secondly, her mother, in between her grandmother’s death and the funeral, had been cast as a recurring character in a daytime drama. She’s very busy and in and out of the house because after many years of trying, she’s finally landed her big break and she wasn’t going to let it pass despite the situation. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clean this place for heaven’s sake,” She snapped at Yuri, one day when she came to deliver the food for the week, “Do something useful with yourself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know how—I—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Learn! </em>Do you think everyone is born knowing? I can’t do everything for you! I’m already working hard to feed everyone!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Babushka—“ Yuri began, and her eyes had filled with tears when she remembered that she was no longer with them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Stop </em>crying! All you do is cry! You’ve cried enough!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—I—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her mother had stormed off, slamming the door behind her and making all the picture frames in the wall rattle. Yuri looked around the house, there were dishes piled up high in the sink, trash from the continuous take out her mother brought them scattered all over the floor and table. Everything was coated in dust because no one had cleaned in months. In the bedrooms there were mountains of unwashed clothes and her grandmother's belongings still remained in the master bedroom that her grandfather hadn’t slept in. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri had taken in a deep breath and told herself, <em>don’t cry. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She began to pick the trash and repeated it over and over, “Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As she mumbled this to herself she tried to remember what her grandmother had done when she was cleaning. She does her best to replicate it and though she falls short in many things, the next time her mother comes over, she looks around and gives Yuri a minute smile, “See? You can do it.” She had come close to her, pressed her lips to Yuri’s forehead, “Thank you, Yuri, you’re such a good girl.” She ran her fingers through her hair almost lovingly and pulled away. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It had the first time her mother had ever shown her such sincere affection. She had flushed red with satisfaction, happy that she had done something good enough to warrant such kindness from the woman that had given her life. From that moment on, Yuri had done everything she could to satisfy her. She learned how to clean and how to cook, making sure to do things well, so her mother would compliment her. At first, she did, “Thank you for making sure dad eats.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you for washing my clothes.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you for making my lunch.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you for trying to wash my shirt but you ruined it when you ironed it.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks for dinner but I’m going out tonight.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Make sure to clean my coat alright darling? I need it for tomorrow’s premier.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why didn’t you wash my shoes?! I need those <em>today</em>!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It seemed as though her mother was no longer satisfied with the things Yuri did and she always found something to nick pick. Yuri tried harder. She chased perfection in everything she did. In school, in gymnastics, in skating, and at home. It made her stand out because she was so <em>good </em>at everything she did. Her teachers had complimented her and her coach thought she had the potential to attend Kulik’s camp in the future if she tried hard enough. This makes her very hopeful because for the past twenty years Kulik’s camp was the <em>best </em>for Ladies skating in the whole world! </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">During this time, her grandfather had slowly started to come back to life, and he gave her slight smiles when she talked to him during dinner. He nodded at her, only half listening, “That’s great, Yurochka.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It still hadn’t been a full year since her grandmother died and sometimes Yuri missed her <em>so </em>much but when she felt her eyes prickling with tears she muttered to herself, <em>Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She managed to store the sadness somewhere inside her and turned away from it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a while, her mother begins huffing and puffing every time Yuri asks her for money to buy groceries or cleaning supplies. Eventually, her mother sat her down, and very seriously said to her, “I have something I need to talk to you about.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is it?” Yuri had asked, looking at her mother with wide eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You see Yuri,” She began, sighing heavily, “Dad has been very depressed since my mother died and I have done all I can to keep us afloat. But we’re in a bit of a pinch with money right now—we might even lose the house—so I think it’s a good time for you to start pulling your own weight.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri hadn’t known what to say.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know it sounds scary,” Her mother had continued, “But it won’t be. I promise. My manager says you’d make a good model.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri wrinkled her nose, “Model?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, for children’s clothes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But,” Yuri said, shifting in her seat, “I have school…and skating and gymnastics.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“School is very important, of course, but you’re going to have to choose one extracurricular. That way your schedule can be more open.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But I don’t want—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yuri, darling,” Her mother had interrupted, grabbing her hands and squeezing them lightly, “I know you don’t want to give things up but life’s all about compromises. We can’t always get what we want so we have to chose. This will be a good lesson for you.” Her mother had taken in a deep shuddering breath, her wide green eyes were glassy and Yuri saw herself reflected on them, “Please Yuri, things are very difficult right now. I need you to be a big girl and help me.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh,” Yuri mumbled, feeling her chest expand because her mother <em>needed </em>her, “I didn’t know…is…is it really bad?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her mother looked at her, and nodded, swallowing thickly and her lips trembling, “Yes. It’s really bad. But if you start modeling you can pay for all your expenses and I can use the money I spend on you on things we really need.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri nodded, “I’ll do my best.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri ends up giving up gymnastics because she loved skating too much to imagine life without it. Her mother smiles widely at her when Yuri tells her of her decision and she quickly begins the preparations to create Yuri a portfolio. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unsurprisingly, Yuri is almost immediately casted to model for a kids magazine. She models pretty dresses in bright colors and frills. They’re excessively girly and Yuri dislikes them but doesn’t complain because her mother seemed very satisfied with the way she looked. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she’s eleven, she’s finally accepted into Kulik’s camp and when she wins Russian Junior Nationals at twelve, she becomes the center of Russia’s attention. Not only is she a fairly popular child model at this time but she’s also a talented skater. A prodigy. Sponsorships begin rolling in waves and along with them: money. Without her realizing it, she becomes the primary breadwinner in their family, her popularity surpassing that of her mother, and this—this is when things start to slowly sour.</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sharp sting of pain that shoots up her right thigh is what makes her start in her seat. She snaps her eyes open, sitting up straight in her seat, and clears her throat. Beside her Lilia looks straight ahead at the performance that is taking place on stage, the older woman looks very focused. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri shifts her legs away from her as inconspicuously as she can, to her left, Viktor is looking away from her. He has his elbow resting on the armrest and his hand covers his face. Despite the fact that the theater is dark, she can see his shoulders shaking. He’s trying very hard not to laugh at her, especially since Gisselle is going crazy on stage and this is precisely the moment to <em>not </em>be laughing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri clears her throat again and shifts enough in her seat to dig her bony elbow into his ribs. He winces away from her but doesn’t stop laughing silently, so she leans in further, hoping to dig her elbow in deeper. Viktor lets out a squeak very unbecoming of a man his age and she’s about to smile victoriously to herself but just then Lilia pinches her thigh again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hisses, her leg jerking, and she bites her lip to keep from releasing a pained whine. When she gets home later tonight she’s sure she’s going to find her thigh all bruised from the number of times Lilia’s pinched it. But it’s not her fault! They’re the ones forcing this on her! It’s not her fault that she finds watching ballet absolutely <em>boring. </em>She had begun nodding off barely ten minutes into the show and that’s when the torture—carried out by Lilia’s long nails—started. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The music, coupled with the darkness, and her inability to find ballet performances entertaining were her own personal recipe for disaster. She yawned, tears gathering at the corner of her eyes. Relief only came when Gisselle finally fell on stage, finally dead from her weak heart. Yuri would have leaped for joy if not for the fact that the second act was still left. The curtain closes, opens, and closes again, and the lights slowly come back on. The twenty-five-minute intercession starting. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well,” Viktor says to both of them but his mirthful eyes are on Yuri, “That was wonderful, don’t you think Lilia?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” The older woman answers, raising herself from her seat, “Though there were some little hiccups here and there. What did you think Yuri?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ermm, I…I thought it was great.” Yuri doesn’t look up at her and keeps her eyes firmly on the closed red curtain. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lilia’s eyes are heavy on her and her tone is cool when she says, “Yes, I’m sure you did. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I want to have a word with one of the dancers before the second act starts.” Without waiting for their permission she walks out of their private booth, leaving Yuri with her coach. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So…” He begins slowly, “I take it you didn’t have a good nap?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It takes a lot of effort not to roll her eyes, she stands from her seat, and states curtly, “I’m going to the restroom.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t fall asleep while you’re there,” He calls after her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grits her teeth, swallowing back down an insult. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri doesn’t go to the restroom. Instead, she finds her way upstairs, away from the throng of people because she doesn’t feel like running into anyone that might recognize her. She walks through the hallways until they slowly start becoming emptier and emptier. She’s become familiar with the place, ever since Lilia started taking time out of her very busy schedule to help her. (She makes sure to remind Yuri every chance she gets.) Eventually, she comes to a stop when she’s reached the training rooms. She sits on one of the benches outside the large studios and busies herself with a mindless game on her phone. She absentmindedly rubs at the spots Lilia has bruised. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She keeps an eye on the time so she can make it back to the booth a few minutes before the second act starts. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Are you busy? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A message pops up on her phone. She can’t help the smile that pulls at her lips. She responds, <em>aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>eh, i’ll sleep when i’m dead. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>soon, then. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>you’ll miss me. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>you wish. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>can i call?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>sure, i only have a few minutes though.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She waits in anticipation and when the call comes through she lets it ring and ring and ring until the last moment before picking up. “Hello, this is the worlds best skater speaking.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">On the other end, Otabek snorts audibly, “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmph!” Yuri snidely says, “I don’t ever remember feeling anything <em>but </em>better.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Soo…” Otabek contemplatively says, “I take it you’re finally getting used to Nikiforov if you’re not crying about him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I <em>never </em>cried!” She almost shouts, “I’m a muscovite—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“—And muscovites don’t believe in tears.” He finishes for her. “Yes, you’ve mentioned it before.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t cry about it.” She makes sure to reiterate again before continuing, “I just complained….because I can’t tell him to go fuck himself every time he calls me <em>Yurochka. </em>Ugh, I hate men.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, so you’re not over it then.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll never be over it! Who does he think he is anyway? Calling me a cutesy nickname? Who gave him permission? The only man allowed to call me that is my grandfather and let me tell you, Nikiforov looks <em>nothing </em>like my grandfather.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Otabek sighs on the other end, having heard this same complaint multiple times in the last two months or so, “His hair is gray though…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri rolls his eyes, “Yes, because his graying, balding head is enough to make him look like my grandfather.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Silver! </em>Yuri remembers Viktor correcting one of the kids in the beginners class that asked him why his hair was gray despite not being forty yet, <em>My hair is silver! Not gray! </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your grandfather has more hair than him…I think.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri bursts out laughing, “Yeah, he does.” She pulls the phone away from her ear to check the time and realizes that there’s still a few minutes left of the intermission. “They’re making me suffer so <em>much</em>,” She tells him as she stands up and begins making her way back. “I can’t miss the second act of <em>Giselle </em>or else the witch of the north will skin me alive.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She can’t be that bad,” He says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course you can say that. You don’t <em>know </em>her. One of the first things she asked me when we met was if I could go <em>en pointe</em>,” Yuri tries to imitate Lilia’s haughty tone, “As soon as she asked I knew she was going to be a bitch about this whole training thing<em>.</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is it that serious?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It has to be. Ballet people are <em>intense</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right…anyway. I was calling because I have a gig next Saturday night so I’m going to be late on Sunday.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah,” Yuri says, climbing down the stairs, “No worries. I need to work on my Warzone solos anyway.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Otabek groans on the other end of the line, “Don’t talk about Warzone solos. I don’t want to remember they exist.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles to herself and says, “That’s because you suck.” She finally reaches the floor where their booth is located. “I have to go now. I’ll talk to you later.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright,” He said, “Take care.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hangs up just as she enters the booth, Lilia is already there and Viktor is talking to her about something. She tries to not pay any mind how both of them turn to look at her in question when she goes to take her seat. The lights begin to dim down again and thankfully, there’s no time for them to inquire about why she’s late. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Try not to fall asleep,” Viktor whispers to her, “The second act is the best part!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri doesn’t answer because she can already feel boredom settling in. For the next twenty minutes she focuses on trying to keep awake, hiding her yawns with her hand, and trying to remember that the point of all this is for her to focus on the dancers and observe how they show their emotions on their faces. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She can’t really see their faces from up here though, especially since the stage is dimmed with dark, ominous blue light to represent the vengeful spirits of betrayed Wilis. Yuri doesn’t get it, honestly. The whole thing seems stupid to her. Poor peasant village girl, tricked by a man, <em>dead</em> because of a man, and yet Giselle still forgives him and saves him from death. Unconditional love. Agape. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It makes her shift uneasily in her seat. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn't know why people find these types of things romantic or fascinating, to her it’s just sad. Why should she love anyone that took advantage of her?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hears faint sniffling to her left and she turns to look at Viktor. Even in the dark she can see his eyes are glassy, his body is leaning in towards the stage, and his entire attention is on the dancers. <em>What a weirdo, </em>she thinks to herself. Of course, he would find something like this touching. She turns to her other side to look at Lilia, though she doubts <em>she’s</em> feeling anything. Like she suspected, Lilia displays no emotions on her face, but one of her fingers taps on the armrest of the chair. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tap. Tap. Tap. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Along with the beat of the music. </span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri has had ballet instructors before but none like Lilia. Ballet was a requirement in Kulik’s camp and her previous teachers had been good but they taught the basics. Lilia on the other hand was a master of her craft, not only had she been a principal dancer at the Bolshoi theater for more than ten years, now she taught at the Mariinsky and was a special instructor at the Vaganova Academy when she was needed. Yuri knows that ballet is blood and pain and constant, never-ending repetition. It can’t be mindless either, in order to do things right, one must have complete focus and control of one’s body. Maybe that’s why Yuri decided that it wasn’t for her. She didn’t like having to be glued to a bare doing the same things over and over again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lilia isn’t one to waste time with a student unless she’s sure she’s molding them into perfection. Yuri, despite not being a dancer, isn’t given any mercy. If anything, Yuri feels as though Lilia is <em>harder </em>on her than her actual students. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Arc that back more!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your timing is horrendous! Do it again!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hold that position steady! You’re shaking too much!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Heel first, toes follow! Good, now to the side, toes first.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lilia’s other students are seemingly unfazed when she’s still correcting Yuri when they come filing in for their own classes. But Yuri gets the feeling that they might be annoyed their instructor is paying to much attention to her. She meets with Lilia at eight in the morning, an entire hour before the first technique class that Lilia instructs starts, from Monday to Thursday and it’s as tough as Yuri expected, maybe even more so. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The air here is filled with poison, though no one but an outsider like her can tell. The girls are all well behaved but Yuri sees the hunger in their eyes, she sees their desperation, similar to her own, to be the best, to be the star, to be the next great big thing the world has ever seen. Every single girl here is a prodigy but talent alone isn’t enough, not for people like them. Yuri finds solidarity in that, at least.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The days all bleed together the first few weeks, she’s hyper-focused on doing all she can to get back to the level she was a year ago.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"It was quite bold of you to leave your old coach," Lilia says, as Yuri packs her things to head over to the rink. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri pauses, looking up at the woman with a bit of apprehension. Lilia had never asked her such a personal question. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"It didn't work out," Yuri clips, turning away and stuffing her dance shoes in her backpack.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"That's not enough," She answers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri stops again, "Not enough to what?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"To leave," Lilia says. Yuri looks at her inquisitively, and Lilia returns her look pointedly, "Our areas of expertise might be different," She continues, "But let's not play pretend. Something 'not working out' is not enough for people like us. Especially since you knew what was waiting for you on the other side."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri swallows thickly, shifting her eyes away, "A lot happened." She stops, focuses on the wall, "A lot piled up and I gave up."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Gave up?"</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Yuri takes a breath, admitting, "I turned seventeen. I was being replaced right before my eyes and I knew that I couldn't—wouldn't be able to continue. If I stayed there</span> <span class="s1">."</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Mmm," Lilia hums, "So it was that bad."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri flickers her eyes to her and back again to the wall again. Lilia doesn't say more, but Yuri can almost be sure that Lilia understands. Because it was true, people like them didn't just leave because the environment was bad or because they were injured. It was because all the choices and resources had been exhausted. A mouse trapped in a box looking for <em>any</em> way out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It comes as no surprise to her when Viktor informs her that Lilia will be the one choreographing her long program and it's even less of a surprise when it's a ballet heavy program. Yuri isn't too happy about it, mostly because last season her program had Swan Lake and she hadn't been able to connect to the music at all. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Yuri," Lilia says one day when she's in the studio, "Come. I want you to listen to something."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri comes closer to where Lilia and the accompanying pianist are. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">"This is the music with which you will win," Lilia says as if there are no doubts. She nods to the pianist and the older lady nods back. She raises her elegant hands and brings them down on the ivory keys of the grand piano. She can only stand and listen </span> <span class="s1">with rap attention to the intense music that resounds through the training room. She can feel the music pulsating in her blood, down to her unshakable, frozen heart. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lilia looks at her, analyzing her every reaction to the music she's listening to. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the piece comes to its inevitable end, there is silence. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri looks at Lilia, opens her mouth, thinks better of it, and shuts it again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lilia looks a little amused, but she wears her mask too well and Yuri can't decipher if her amusement is good or not. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Begining today," She says, "I will be meeting with you at the rink to teach you the choreo. Viktor has also asked me to take apart your short, he mentioned that you're still having a little trouble with it."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Take it apart?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The older woman nods, "I am no figure skating expert, but I'm not sorry to say that when it comes to the beauty of a woman's soul, both Yakov and Viktor have no understanding of it. If I left you with them unsupervised they would finish killing your career."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri almost wants to laugh, because she's insulting them so casually. "Would it really be that bad?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"The only reason Viktor got so far in his career was because of me." She presses her lips together as she was remembering something unpleasant, "He knows it, Yakov knows it, <em>I </em>know it. It's why he sent you to me in the first place."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"But he always seemed so...artistic..." Yuri says, "That's what literally <em>everyone </em>always says. That's what he was known for. I've <em>seen </em>it." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"What Viktor has," Lilia begins, "Is life experience. Of course, he's able to emote deep emotions, he has emotional maturity now but when he was younger he was about as artistic as a wet rag. He was a good performer and don't get me wrong, the boy has always been more sensible than most," She shakes her head, "But the deeper you feel emotion the more you're able to better express it. Experience is the most effective teacher."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Ahh," Yuri says, "I guess...that makes...sense."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There's a knock on the door that interrupts them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lilia looks up at the clock that's hanging on the wall and says, "We've gone over the hour, you should be on your way."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Yuri leaves the theater, she walks slowly to her car, thinking deeply about the music she'd just heard. She could do something with that, she's sure. It's right up her alley. The short on the other hand...despite the fact that she had learned the choreography already she still felt disconnected from it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she's driven back to the rink she sits in her car waiting for it to be 9:30.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pulls out her phone and Yuri scrolls through her Instagram page trying to distract herself. She’s been having thoughts of opening up a new account, just because the one she has now was never truly hers. For the longest time, the one who had been managing it had been her publicist. Elena had been the one that chose what pictures and captions to share. And Yuri isn’t going to lie, her feed is very nicely put together but it feels so false to her. Though it was her face that stared back at her in the many pictures the only thing Yuri saw was her mother trying to live her dreams through her. Maybe she’s just thinking too much into it. Did it even matter now? Who cared if Yuri posted a picture of herself without makeup or filters or touching it up? What did it matter now that she didn’t have anyone to answer to but herself? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She checks her inbox and there's a bunch of messages from her followers. Some are offering encouragement, they say they’ll support her no matter what she does or who she’s coached by. Others, well, others are calling her an ungrateful bitch and that she’s a traitor of Russia. There’s also this jackass that’s been hounding her since she was in juniors giving her ‘tips’ on how to lose weight. She’s blocked him many times, but he had multiple accounts and she was so <em>sick </em>of him. Even ignoring him was beginning to be a chore. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One user’s messages stick out above the rest and she stares at the message for a long time before deciding to open it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>You can’t leave Kulik’s camp. I won’t allow it. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I’m sorry for making a scene. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Yuri answer me.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Please unblock my number. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I’m sorry. I only want the best for you. Answer me. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Yuri, darling, I love you so much. Please talk to me. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She swallows thickly, feeling her resolve to ignore this woman for the rest of her life waver. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Yuri. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s her last message. Sent five days ago. Just <em>Yuri. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shuts off her phone, stuffing it into the pocket of her hoodie, she bites the inside of her cheek. <em>She always does this to you, </em>she tells herself, <em>she always expects you to forgive her just because she’s your mother. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She leans her head against the window and closes her eyes tightly. When the instinctual urge to answer her has passed, she pulls her phone out again, and opens up Twitter instead. She's logged into her 'personal' account, the one she used to shit post about games, and searches up her name. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Again, the tweets are about the same, some encouraging, others slandering her name. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She scrolls through it with boredom, until she comes across an article from Sports Russia. Yuri knows the drill, someone does something, and everyone and their mother feels the need to comment on it. She knows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So she doesn't know why it's so infuriating when starts reading what all the other 'professionals' are saying.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s1">I don't see the point in switching coaches at this point in her career,</span> </em> <span class="s1"> Luganov commented, <em>I think she's on the verge of retiring. There are other much younger, much better skaters. Russia won't miss her. </em></span></p><p class="p1">The words of retired skaters don't mean anything to her, and it could have been <em>literally</em> anyone else, and she wouldn't have cared. But the moment she sees fucking Luganov's name and face, she sees red. She's always hated the bastard with a passion. He was a creep of the highest degree and she'd had to deal with him since she was in Juniors because he was one of the technical coaches for Kulik. And the fact that hestill had a job was sickening to her. </p><p class="p1">"SHUT UP! I'll break your fucking nose again you piece of shit!" She shouts, hot anger making her cheeks flush, "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! GO TO HELL"</p><p class="p1">She gets out of her car because she feels like she's going to throw up with how angry she is. She paces in the parking lot, trying to somehow reign in her anger.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. </em>
</p><p class="p1">This is how Viktor finds her, flushed red up to her ears in rage, and pacing up and down the length of her car.</p><p class="p1">He frowns and asks, "What are you doing?"</p><p class="p1">Yuri makes an affronted noise because he catches her by surprise. He looks at her with raised eyebrows and a coffee in his hand. </p><p class="p1">"Nothing," She grits out, "Nothing. Just<span class="s1">—</span>" She forcefully tries to calm herself down, "Nothing."</p><p class="p1">"Well, then," Viktor says, pointing in the direction of the rink, "You're late."</p><p class="p1">"I know I'm going," She snaps, pulling the back door of her car open and pulling out her skate bag.</p><p class="p1">She feels her blood boiling because how was it possible? How was it possible that she was scorned so much yet trash like Luganov still had a job? In what world was that okay? And that bullshit? Russia won't miss her? She's the best damn skater this country has. </p><p class="p1">Test skates were coming up three months, and despite her messy exit from Kulik's camp, she was still part of the National team and that would be the first time since she made her transfer that she would be in the public eye. She would make sure to make that bastard eat his words.</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">There’s too much to be done to stop and think about all that can go wrong. So she plows through training with single-minded pursuit, not allowing herself to be distracted by the mountains of daunting thoughts that hulk around her, waiting for her to let her guard down so they can descend on top of her and flood her with despair. </span> <span class="s1">She practices with the same angry tenaciousness that she always has, because more than anything, more than anyone, she wants to <em>win</em>.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">There's this belief about girls, especially by the people of her country, that girls have to be docile, they have to settle, they have to be kind even when they're down, that they can't be competitive or thirst for the top spot on the podium. Well, Yuri wants to tell them <em>fuck that bullshit</em>. She wants to <em>win. </em></span> <span class="s1">She wants to prove all the people that have ever doubted her wrong. She wants the world to know that it wasn't her coach that owned her medals. Yuri wanted to show this entire universe that she was the best skater to ever come out of Russia and she wasn't going to stop, wasn't going to give up until that came true. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Because Yuri knows that it's true. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She has the best damned skills this hellhole of a federation will ever see, and she's going to prove it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So what if she has to relearn all her jumps? So fucking what? </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Yuri is so determined that she'll tear her heart open if she has to. </span> <span class="s1">She'll even learn to love unconditionally for two minutes and forty seconds.</span></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>He's a dragon is the Victurio AU of my dreams, lolololol. I rewatched it the other day and I was like...wait...wait a minute...I mean! The main characters even look like what I picture when I think of Viktor and a female Yuri, but anyway, that's not the point. The point is I now wanna write a dragon AU of some sort but with a male Yuri. LOLOLOL.<br/>anyway please ignore me, but if you're down to watch the movie then I 100% recommend it. I love it so much. I watched a few years ago and it's been a fave since.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. part one: a flower</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>round of applause for me that updated soon. lolol. <br/>i hope you guys enjoy this.<br/>bye!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <em>part one:</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>a flower (iii)</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri looks down at the pack of food her grandfather had prepared for her. In the bag, there’s a banana, her lunch, and an assortment of nuts that are supposed to be her afternoon snack. She stares at the contents with mild antipathy. She bites her lower lip, looking around the empty changing room. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s no one here.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes the banana and nuts, pushes the door to the restrooms open, and goes into one of the stalls. She wraps them up in toilet paper, over and over again, until she’s sure that no one will notice what’s inside. She dumps the ball in the trash can and adds even more toilet paper on top of it. She pauses, thinks about what she’s doing, and feels guilty.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>But I don’t need it, </em>she tells herself, <em>I’m full from breakfast already. And lunch is in two hours. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hears someone pushing the door to the restrooms open and she flushes the toilet. She waits about ten seconds before she pushes the door open and comes out. Mila is setting her makeup bag on the sink counter and looks up at Yuri through the mirror.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good morning,” She greets, giving her a smile.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Morning,” Yuri mumbles as she comes up beside her to wash her hands. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You ready for test skates?” She asks, rummaging in her bag for her eyeliner.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri stares at the running water in her hands, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mila nods, “Are you going to present your costumes?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They’re not ready yet.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Boo-hoo,” The older girl says, leaning closer to the mirror to expertly apply her eyeliner on, when she’s done, she examines herself in the mirror before telling Yuri, “I was hoping we could do it together.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri rolls her eyes as she dries her hands, “What for?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Because,</em>” She stresses, “I’m always the only one dressed up. Everyone else just wears their training clothes. It’s so <em>boring</em>. The whole point of the thing is to show off.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri shrugs, throwing the paper towel in the trash. “If you ask me, it’s only to scam people out of their money.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mila laughs and nods, “Yeah there’s that too. But I’m looking forward to it, this year more than most.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri rolls her eyes again, “You’re just desperate to be in the middle of the drama.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh no! I’m desperate to see <em>you </em>in the middle of the drama. I’m just an onlooker like everyone else.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re a nasty piece of work.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And you’re as cute as ever, kotyonok.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri bristles, as adverse to the nickname as she had been when Mila had started using it,“I’m leaving.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mila pouts, “Aww, but why?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri doesn’t deign her with an answer and walks out of the restrooms, leaving Mila calling out after her but Yuri can still hear the laughter in her voice so she just keeps walking. She opens her skating bag and pulls out her skates, quickly making her way out of the dressing rooms so Mila doesn’t come out and start annoying her again.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Yuri had begun to train here, it had been strange to be sharing the ice with Mila. Not because they were rivals but because she wasn’t used to being on such good terms with other girls. Mila was one of the few female friends she had and they had become friends through force more than willingness because Mila was a pest. In a good way, but still a pest. Yuri still wonders why the other girl had asked for them to exchange numbers since Yuri had been such a <em>bitch </em>to her. She can't deny that she's grateful for her though, so maybe that’s why she let Mila get away with a lot more things than others. Like nicknames.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri had met Mila long before she entered the senior circuit, but they became acquaintances during the time they went to Worlds together that first year of Yuri’s senior debut. Mila was the only girl out of the three that wasn’t part of Kulik’s camp and Yuri remembers thinking that she didn’t deserve to be there. Compared to the other girls Yuri had trained with, Mila was subpar and she didn’t even have a single consistent ultra-c element. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">To Yuri’s unending misfortune, they had been roomed together because Sletvana—Kulik’s niece—was the favorite at the time and therefore she got a room of her own. Mila had been loud and excited to talk, a stark difference from what Yuri was used to. It wasn’t that the girls from Kulik's camp hated each other—or well, <em>some </em>did—but they weren’t <em>friends </em>and usually when they were in private they all kept to themselves. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just shut up,” Yuri had said finally when she got sick of Mila’s insistent yapping. “You’re so annoying.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mila had looked a bit taken aback, but rather than get angry, she’d thrown her head back in amusement and laughed, “Well what do you know? You can speak!” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri frowned, puffing, “Do you not understand Russian? Shut up! Do you want me to say it in English? Spanish? French?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you know all those languages?” She’d asked instead, ignoring Yuri’s initial question completely.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri had shaken her head, turning away from her and covering her head with a pillow. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next morning Yuri had woken up to Mila already gone from their hotel room. Later that same day, after her practice time, when she’d gone back to the room to sleep some more, and Mila been there, icing her knees, and had looked at her curiously, “I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t see why that matters.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Or at lunch.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri paused, looking at the older girl with a sneer, “Are you my keeper or something?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” She’d answered simply and gone back to do her business. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri had wanted to say more, but at that very moment she’d received a call from her mother and she had to step out of the room to speak to her. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll be there tomorrow,” She had informed Yuri, “I’m flying out in the morning.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Have you eaten anything today?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” She’d responded, her stomach growling at the mention of food.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good, your face puffs up too much when you do.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri remained silent on the line.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Every time you think about wanting to eat just remember what’s on the line,” Her mother says, “You want to win, don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri clenches her fists, “I do.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’d hung up the phone, leaning against the wall, and rubbing her temples. There had been something she had noticed lately and she’d been wanting to ask her mother about it, but every time she gathered enough courage to ask, at the very last minute she’d lose her nerves and decided to not say anything. But it was getting increasingly harder to ignore. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was some money missing from her savings account. Four hundred thousand rubles, to be exact. It hadn’t been the first time either. Since gaining access to the account Yuri had noticed that quite a bit of money went missing periodically. She’d asked about it one time, and her mother had shrugged it off, saying that it was bill payments. But it was happening more and more frequently and despite pouring in all the money she made from her sponsorships and prize winnings the account wasn’t growing. Yuri was beginning to suspect that someone was stealing her money.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And the only other person besides Yuri that had access was Elena. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">On one hand, she had reasoned with herself, she was her mother, and that money was made mostly thanks to Elena’s management. But on the other hand, Elena was getting a percentage of all of Yuri's winnings, and the whole point of Yuri having a savings account was to <em>save. </em>It made Yuri wonder how much more money Elena had been taking for herself when Yuri <em>didn’t </em>have access to the account. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She had shaken her head, trying to dispel all unnecessary thoughts from her head, it wasn’t the time or place to be thinking about such things. She had to focus on winning, right then, nothing else mattered. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she’d gone back inside to the room, Mila was preparing to go down to dinner, and she’d asked Yuri if she wanted to go down together. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Yuri said, going into the restroom, “I’ll go later.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mila had shrugged and gone off on her own. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri didn’t go to dinner that night.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Mila, well, she wasn’t oblivious to what Yuri was doing.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You poor girl,” Mila had said pityingly, when she came back, “You’re deep in the swamp.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up,” Yuri said, laying on the bed, her eyes closed, concentrating on her breathing and trying not to think about the permanent feeling of hunger she felt in her stomach. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re a sad sight.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri sat up abruptly, snapping her eyes open and snarling, “<em>You’re </em>the sad one! You’re going to lose tomorrow!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mila shook her head, “Says who?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Says me! The only reason you made it here, is because you got lucky. You’re <em>way </em>past your prime.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The red-haired girl had stared at Yuri for a long moment before rolling her eyes and shaking her head, “You can’t predict the future, anything can happen.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can predict that I’ll win,” Yuri had smartly said and they left it at that. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Yuri had not won, not the short program, she’d flubbed one of her elements and fell to third place. Mila was second, Sletvana first. That night, she’d buried her face in the pillow and screamed until Mila came back from dinner. When the other girl walked into the room, Yuri didn’t raise her head or acknowledge her. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mila said nothing either but when the room was dark and quiet, Yuri had whispered into the darkness, “I’ll win tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The older girl had heard her, Yuri was sure, but she didn’t say respond. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">True to her word, Yuri had placed first in the long program, and her combined total was enough to win her gold. Mila had gotten bronze and Sletvana…well, Sletvana had ended in second. Yuri still remembers what the dark-haired girl had whispered to her when she hugged her, “Enjoy it while you can.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At that moment, Yuri had taken it as a challenge, not knowing that Sletvana would never compete alongside her again. She had retired that summer, though she’d never given a formal announcement. Kulik had made no mention of it either, and when the season started again, Yuri began to understand what Sletvana had meant. Glory only lasted six months because now five promising juniors had moved up, and Yuri—never having been the favorite—had been pushed back to the end of the line in regards to importance. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sletvana’s retirement hadn’t come as a shock. In the five years she’d been there, Yuri had seen senior after senior retire once they hit the magical age of seventeen, some tried to stay, broke apart under the strain, and sustained irreversible damages to their bodies, and others retired quietly, fading into the background and letting the younger girls take their place. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And this was where Yuri differed. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She did not want passing glory. She didn’t want one beautiful, shimmering season and then be done. She wanted glory for a lifetime, for centuries. Long after she was dead she wanted people to know her name. She was not going to settle for anything less. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri had never been the favorite, despite being one of the best, Kulik had never liked her personally, because Yuri didn’t stay quiet, didn’t take criticism passively and humbly. She asked questions, she spoke out when she didn’t like the music, she argued with the choreographer, argued with the trainer, argued with the dorm managers, she even managed to argue with the receptionist at the camp when given the opportunity. She had a reputation for being a nitpicking, spoiled princess. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So when her second senior season came around and she completely fell apart, everyone was glad to see it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She had been finally ‘put in her place.’</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The younger, more talented, more obedient juniors had arrived, the new batch of the season. And Yuri was a product whose shelf life was on the verge of expiring. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri’s living situation has not been ideal. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She had lived in the dorms of Kulik’s camp right up until the moment that she left and hadn’t found an apartment immediately. She rented a hotel for a few weeks and then her grandfather had gotten her in touch with a friend that owned a hostel and she’d been staying there for the last few months. The room she lives in is tiny and she has to share the restrooms with ten other people but it’s close to the rink, cheap, and she has a free parking spot and a small fridge and microwave so she counts herself lucky. She can’t afford a full-sized apartment on her own, so she’s been looking into finding a roommate. Of course, this has been the biggest obstacle because Yuri cannot stand the majority of people. She’s met with a few people a few times but she hasn’t found anyone she thinks she can tolerate. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her grandfather’s friend says she can stay as long as she wants, charging Yuri only thirty-eight thousand rubles a month, which is practically a steal, especially in a place like Saint Petersburg. But she hates the whole bathroom situation, and she can’t sleep comfortably at night knowing that there are strangers going in and out of the rooms on her floor. She’s especially bitter she can’t bring Potya or her PC here, because she won’t risk anyone stealing either of them. It’s coming to a point that Yuri thinks maybe she’ll have to bite the bullet and just accept having an annoying roommate.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She trains from Monday to Friday from eight to eleven and from two to six. On Saturdays, she trains for three hours, goes 'home', showers, and then she goes straight to the train station for a four-hour train ride to Moscow. She gets there dead tired but the way her grandfather’s face lights up every time she walks into the house makes it worth it. They have dinner together, watch a movie, and the next day they prepare breakfast together, then he goes off to church, and she stays in her childhood bedroom, with Potya purring in her lap, playing computer games until he comes back. Then he insists on preparing her meals for the week despite Yuri telling him that she can find someone to do it for her, but he’s adamant about it still and she can’t tell him no. They bake a cake sometimes, and Yuri eats it slowly, trying not to think about how many calories she’s going to have to burn off to make sure she doesn’t grow another centimeter sideways. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Because her body has changed a lot in the past few months, she hasn’t weighed herself, and every time Viktor weighs her she looks away because she doesn’t want to see the scale, but she can feel the way her clothes fit her differently. Her leggings feel snugger around her hips and thighs, and she feels a lot more solid than she had before. The ashen gray tone of her face is gone, and she doesn’t have to use foundation to make herself look less transparent. Her hair has stopped falling off in bunches from the stress and the bald spots she’d tried to disguise with the longer strands of her thin hair have begun growing back. Sometimes when she passes too quickly in a mirror and sees her reflection out of the corner of her eye, she can’t recognize herself. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Test skates are in three weeks and as the date approaches the anxiety she’s been trying to keep at bay has slowly started to crawl in through the crevices of her carefully built walls. The problem is, she isn’t at the level she wants to be at. She’s managed to restore her triple axel to the fullest, her quad salchow is a bit wonky but not too bad, and she’s been working on adding a quad Lutz, but it’s nowhere near ready for her to debut it at test skates. Viktor has told her she’s not doing it, and Yuri had wanted to argue because she wanted to show Russia and her old coaching staff that she had improved, but Yakov, who is technically Yuri’s real coach, had agreed with Viktor and that meant Yuri had no choice but to do as they said. She had to bite down on her tongue until she drew blood to keep herself quiet. Lilia hadn’t said much about it, deciding to stay out of that losing battle, instead, she focused on making sure Yuri was in tip-top shape artistically. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s sitting at one of the cafeteria tables, absentmindedly eating her lunch and looking through the responses she had received on her post about needing a roommate when Viktor, out of nowhere, slides into the seat in front of her. She jolts when she hears the chair scrapping back and when her eyes land on his, he smiles apologetically. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” He says.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You didn’t frighten me,” She replies automatically.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He raises an eyebrow, and slowly says, “Right…”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Makkachin comes up to her, and she smiles down at him, patting him on the head. Yuri takes a piece of her chicken and gives it to him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not supposed to be wasting your food,” Her coach tells her in disapproval.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not wasting it,” She says, and then to Makkachin, “Can you believe him? He doesn’t want me to give you treats.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not giving him treats.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tch,” Yuri clicks her tongue, “It wasn’t even that big.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Besides,” He continues as if Yuri hadn’t said anything, “He’s not supposed to accept food from strangers,” He looks at Makkachin pointedly and the dog just seems to smile.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good thing I’m not a stranger,” Yuri says.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor shakes his head, “I’ve tried so hard to train him but he’ll accept anything if a girl gives it to him.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He just knows who to charm,” Yuri answers, giving Makkachin another piece of her chicken. He gratefully accepts it again and comes up so close his head is almost resting in her lap. She gives him another piece because he’s looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, that’s enough.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri rolls her eyes, and only says, “Fine.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the time they had been talking, Yuri had set her phone down on the table, and it had been constantly pinging with new alerts. She looks through them and wrinkles her nose. Another gross guy asking her if she was looking to date.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She immediately blocks the user, not bothering to read through all the messages he’d sent her. She’s specifically specified “Women only please” in her post. But men couldn’t read, so there was that. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes her head, “Just some stupid guy.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Boyfriend?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes her head again but this time her face scrunched up in disgust, “No just some random dude on the internet. I put out an advertisement this morning for a roommate and all these random guys just started messaging me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re looking for a roommate?” He asks.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods, setting her phone down on the table again and looking up at him. “Yeah, I’ve been living at a hostel for the past few months.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’ve been what?!” He exclaims, his voice almost cracking with how high his voice went. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri looks at him blankly, not understanding why he looks like he’s seconds away from having a total meltdown. “I’ve been living at a hostel,” She says very slowly, very carefully, as if he’s a bomb. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gapes, opens, and closes his mouth, completely flabbergasted. “You’re underage.” He says finally as if that explained his thought process. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I turn eighteen in March,” She tells him.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That doesn’t mean anything!” He stops, brings his right hand to his face, and holds the bridge of his nose as he inhales, “Okay,” He says, “Okay, since when have you been living in a hostel?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Since…” She thinks about it for a minute, “April? No wait—March? No. April. Yeah. April.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks horrified, “So you’re telling me you’ve been living at a hostel, by <em>yourself</em>, since April?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolls her eyes and says as if he’s dumb, “Yeah, my grandfather knows the owner. So he’s renting out a room to me. I can’t afford an apartment on my own right now.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor still looks like he’s on the cusp of having an aneurism with every new detail of information that Yuri supplies him with. But his next words are somewhat calm, but his voice is strained, “Why didn’t you say anything?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shrugs, “I think it mattered? I mean, you’re not supposed to find housing for me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But I could have helped you. Things like this impact your wellbeing! I cannot believe you…” He says, already beginning to pull out his phone and scrolling through his contacts.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think—“ Yuri begins, but he’s holding up a hand and shushing her. She has the urge to slap his hand away but refrains. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you still have that empty room at your apartment?” He asks without greeting whoever he’s calling. “You do! I—well, Yurochka needs a place to stay. She’s been staying at a hostel—a hostel! Yes!” He pauses looking at Yuri and shakes his head and whoever he’s talking to is talking loudly on the other end of the line, “I know! Can you believe this? And she never told us!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri beings to get a sinking feeling in her gut because Viktor is talking to the other person as if they knew Yuri too. The pool of people who they could possibly be is very narrow. Instinctively, she can almost guess who it is. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He ends the call, and looks at her, “You.” He says, “Are grounded.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can’t ground me,” She protests, “I’m not your kid.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, no, but I am your coach. And you’re grounded.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That doesn’t even make sense.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll make it make sense,” He says darkly, almost to himself, “Somehow. Now come on, let's go get your stuff.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stands from the table and doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s already walking towards the exit. Makkachin follows behind him and Yuri scrambles to pack her Tupperware back into her lunch bag. “Wait!” She calls back after him, “We still have afternoon training!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s been canceled!” He calls over his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can’t do that!” She almost screams, so close to tripping over the chair as she hastily follows after him, pulling her skate bag with her, “Test skates is in three weeks!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The coach is taking a sick leave,” He tells her as they turn into the long hallway that leads to the exit of the sports palace, she almost has to run to keep up with his long strides.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You—you can’t—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can and I will,” He begins to walk even faster, Makkachin matches his steps, and Yuri almost has half a mind to knee check Viktor to get him to slow down. Then he stops, abruptly, when she least expects it, and she almost runs straight into his back. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She stops a hairs breath away from him and flinches back, stepping away from him. He doesn’t seem to notice and he tells her, “Lead the way, I’ll follow you in my car.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You,” She beings, breathing heavily, “Are being unreasonable.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>I’m </em>being unreasonable?” He asks incredulously, his voice on the verge of anger, “You’ve been in an uncertain living situation that can affect your emotional, psychological, and physical wellbeing and you didn’t think it would be a good idea to mention it? And I’m the one who is being unreasonable? You’re sabotaging yourself and I’m the one who is being unreasonable? ”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He holds up a hand, again signaling her to be quiet, and this time she <em>does </em>slap his hand away, “Don’t <em>do </em>that to me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her unexpected flare of retaliation takes him by surprise and he grabs her wrist, his strong fingers wrapping entirely around it and his hold is firm, but not painful. Viktor looks like he’s going to say something but stops completely, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. “Wait,” He says, “Wait.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri freezes and they stand in the hallway for seconds that feel eternal to her, his palm is hot against her skin, and she wants nothing more than to pull away. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Viktor opens his eyes, he shakes his head, “We’re not going to argue about this right now. We need to move your things today and we’re losing time.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks down at her as if waiting for her to agree. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then let me go,” She tells him, her voice firm.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He blinks once and his eyes fall to where his hand is wrapped around her wrist, he lets go immediately, and he apologizes, “Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks up at him, and concedes, if only for right now, “We should…probably go…”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right,” He motions for her to walk ahead of him, “Lead the way.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri side-eyes him as she walks past him and shakes her head. <em>Unreasonable</em>, she silently tells him in her head. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They make it back to the hostel in thirty minutes and when Viktor looks around the tiny room Yuri watches as he closes his eyes and silently begs the heavens for fortitude. She almost wants to laugh. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s not much to pack, since she’s been living out of her suitcase, and the main furniture all belongs to the hostel. They’re out of there in less than two hours and when they leave, Viktor is the one that drives ahead as he leads her to the place where she’s supposed to be staying. They head back in the direction of the rink and Yuri wonders where the hell he’s leading her when he passes up the rink but when they’re pulling into the bridge that leads to Krestovsky Island, she knows her initial instinct was correct. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Lilia opens the door to her home, she looks pink with range, but she just steps aside and lets them come in, Viktor pulls her luggage behind him and takes it to the room that Lilia has prepared for her. It’s a nice guest room, bigger than the little room she’d been living in, and much more comfortable. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They let her settle in without disturbing her but when dinner rolls around Yuri gets the lecture of a lifetime. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri is angry.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>But, </em>Viktor thinks as he watches her fall for the third time in the last ten minutes, <em>when is that girl </em>not <em>angry? </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before he agreed to coach her, he’d asked Mila about her, because he wanted to know what he was getting himself into. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, she’s a feisty one,” The red-head girl had said, smiling like she knew a secret, “A firecracker.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Except she hadn’t been, at least not in the way Viktor had expected. She was angry a lot of the time, Viktor chalked that up to the fact that she was a teenage girl, but contrary to the rumors and the very vocal accusations of her previous coach, Yuri didn’t talk back.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> But if he’s being honest, he’s seen it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s seen the way she bit down on her tongue, trying to hold her words back, how she clenched her jaw when she was being made to do something she didn’t like, how she rolled her eyes when she didn’t think Viktor was looking. He’s seen the way her face fell into a deadpan look when she thought Viktor was being nonsensical and he’s seen her fall time after time and get up, over and over again. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was constantly holding herself back as if she couldn’t quite let herself go. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And that is where the problem lies.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s been a different experience, coaching her, compared to the only other case he had to compare. She’s naturally talented and from a technical standpoint, she’s easy to coach. She’s a gem like Yakov had said, and Viktor can believe it now that he’s spent a long time working with her. And he knows her, but at the same time, doesn’t. She’s a contradiction. He’s seen her face plastered on billboards advertising ice cream and clothes, smiling a fake smile that he’s unfamiliar with because the Yuri he knows <em>doesn’t </em>smile. She only frowns and looks pissed off at him, at herself, and any other human being for daring to breathe in her direction. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s lonely too. The only person that she interacts with is Mila, Yakov, Lilia, and him, and the reclusive, sick grandfather. That's extreme, even for reserved people. Her mother, after the confrontation that they had, never showed her face around the rink again. It’s concerning, that a parent who said they were worried about their child’s wellbeing scampered away at the first sign of confrontation from a total stranger that had no previous influence on said child’s life. And let her live in a hostel—and he’s <em>still </em>not over that, the <em>nerve </em>of that girl. Just thinking about it raised his blood pressure. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Today’s anger is different though, it’s irrational, more unwarranted than usual. It could be that she’s nervous or upset about something in her personal life. But Viktor has his suspicions. It could also be—</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His phone vibrates in his pocket, signaling a new message. He takes it out and unlocks it, Yuuko’s message reads, <em>He’s doing very well. Thank you for asking. </em>The three dots light up and he holds his breath, <em>He’s going out. He’s been skating, too.</em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I’m glad, </em>he texts back, <em>that he’s doing better.</em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I hope you’re doing well, too. </em>She responds and Viktor feels the heaviness of the almost weightless ring in his pocket. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>I am. </em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn’t respond, and he leaves it at that. Shifting his attention to his surroundings again, trying not to start thinking strange things. He takes in a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri kicks the board when she comes up beside him, “Fuck, <em>fuck</em>,” She whispers under her breath and Viktor pretends not to hear her.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The other skaters on the ice don’t pay her any attention, and Viktor shifts his attention to look around the Megasport arena with curiosity. It’s been a while since he was last here and it’s a bit strange that he’s not the one competing. </span>
  <span class="s1">Yuri sniffs beside him, and he turns to her, her eyes are bloodshot red, but she doesn’t cry. She grabs a tissue and blows her nose. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re distracted,” He tells her.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She clicks her tongue and snaps, “You don’t have any better advice?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Focus,” He tells her.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She breathes in deeply, looking at him angrily, she slams the tissue on the top of the board. He notices how she doesn't reach for the water bottle. She breathes in slowly, trying to calm herself down, but it doesn’t seem to help. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re doing it again,” He says, “Using your upper body to launch yourself into the air. You need to rely on the strength of your legs, we’ve been over this.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grits her teeth and rubs her forehead. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re up next,” He reminds her. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri skates away, going to the center of the rink, she settles into the opening pose but when the music starts, she hesitates five seconds too long and she’s completely out of sync. This must piss her off further because Viktor can see the way her face falls into a frown rather than the placid expression they’ve told her she needs to have. The whole run-through is a disaster and when it ends, she looks ready to tear her hair out. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s in her head,” Yakov says beside him, and Viktor almost jumps in fright.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He holds a hand to his chest, “You scared me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yakov gives him a look, “If you don’t do something about it,” He begins, turning his eyes to Yuri, “She’s going to do horribly today and it’ll be a massive blow to her confidence.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s just test skates,” Viktor answers, “No one is judging. It’s for fun.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know that.” The man says, “But this is technically the start of the season, she has to do well if you don’t want to waste another month rebuilding her confidence.” He looks at him very seriously, “And I don’t have to remind you how hard that can be.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>I can’t do this anymore, </em>He hears his previous student say from somewhere deep in his memories, his voice cracking, <em>My anxiety is killing me. I can’t do it. I quit. Don’t make me do this anymore I hate it. I HATE IT. PLEASE—</em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor shifts from foot to foot, trying to dispel those awful memories, knowing from painful experience that what Yakov is saying is very true, “I’ll see what I can do.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See to it that you do.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When their ice time is over, Yuri snatches her skate guards from his hands, snaps them on, and stomps out of the arena with tense shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s still another four hours before test skates are officially set to start, and even then the ladies will be the last to go since they’re the ones everyone <em>really </em>wants to see. Viktor drives Yuri back to the hotel they’re staying in and on the way he thinks of suitable words to say to her to get her out of whatever state-of-mind she’s in. But he’s never been good at this, and he wonders what Yakov is thinking, letting him handle this on his own as if he didn’t know how awful Viktor was at comforting people.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Viktor parks the car, Yuri wastes no time opening the door and practically dashing out. He watches her go, thinking it’s best to let her cool off for a moment or two before he tries to talk to her. He needs to think things over too, so maybe he’s just trying to give <em>himself </em>time. He goes to his room, sits on the armchair, and in a form of self-torture pulls his engagement ring out. He stares at it for a long time, thinking nothing and a billion and one things all at once. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels his heart constrict and tries to remember that Yuuko had said that he was doing well. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>You constantly blaming yourself it isn’t going to help anyone, </em>Sidney’s voice reminds him. <em>What’s done is done. It’s time to accept it and begin to rebuild. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor says it out loud, “What’s done is done.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He puts the ring away and waits for some time to pass before he goes on the lookout for Yuri. In the meantime, he scrolls through his phone and he almost wishes he didn’t. </span>
  <span class="s1">There are already countless pictures of Yuri leaning against the boards already, the headlines among many read: <em>Plisetskaya lands no quads in practice, Yuri Plisetskaya still out of shape? Plisetskaya’s hopes for the Olympics are looking dim. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shuts it off, now is really not the time to focus on what the media circus is doing. He looks at his time, it’s been thirty minutes, he figures that’s enough time for Yuri to have cooled off. He closes his hotel room door behind him and walks to the elevators. Yuri is one floor above him, sharing with Mila but Mila was scheduled for a different practice time. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knocks on the door and there’s no answer. He waits and waits and knocks again. There’s still no answer. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wonder if she’s asleep,” He mutters to himself and pulls out his phone, he dials her. It rings and rings and just when he thinks it’s going to go to voicemail, she answers.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What,” She snaps.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m knocking.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah I heard and I’m not opening the door. Does that not tell you something?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor stares at the door, a bit taken aback by her open rudeness. He frowns, there’s something about the way her voice sounds that tells him she’s not okay, “Open the door.” He instructs.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Now.” He hardens his voice, and he hears her curse and hang up. He pulls the phone away from his ear, in complete disbelief that she had hung up on him. He’s about to redial when the door in front of him swings open.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks a bit haggard, her hair is wet and her eyes—her eyes are furious. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I opened the door,” She smartly says, “Now what do you want?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I want to talk.” He says simply.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re talking.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is not what I mean.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She clicks her tongue again and walks back into the room, leaving the door wide open. He slips inside, closing it behind him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you want to talk about?” She asks him as she sits on the bed at the farthest end of the room. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“About earlier,” He starts, “You’re distracted. I want to know why?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s nothing,” She says like she’s dismissing him, “I’m over it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It doesn’t seem like it to me.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She does not even try to hide the roll of her eyes, “Whatever.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, it’s not whatever. I need to know what’s bothering you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri shakes her head, “Nothing is bothering me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And yet you did so horribly today,” He says back, she stiffens and clenches her fists in her lap. She still doesn’t say anything and Viktor is almost disappointed that this is how it’s going to be. “You ignored every single thing I’ve been telling you these past few months and—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“—I <em>know.</em>” She interrupts, “You don’t have to tell me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pauses, she’s looking down at her clenched fists, and she bites down on her lower lip as if she’s trying to hold herself back again. But Viktor can’t help her if she won’t tell him what is bothering her. He’s going to have to push her over the edge, so he can see what she’s really made of, but can he do it in a way that he won’t break her? </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It doesn’t seem like it to me.” He says.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn’t say anything, and the silence is heavy with tension.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He continues, “The season is barely about to begin, and you’re already cracking, are you even going to make it to December?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up,” She seethes, looking up to meet his eyes, “Shut up.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He quirks an eyebrow, but presses further, “If you’re not ready you can always withdraw—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>No</em>,” She says, standing up, “No I can’t.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It won’t be a big deal,” He continues as if she hadn’t spoken, “Though—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I <em>said </em>no!” She practically shouts, “You don’t fucking get it! I can’t withdraw!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks very near hysteria now, and when Viktor calmly asks, “Why don’t I get it?” She practically loses it.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because you’re a <em>fucking</em> man!” She shouts, finally, her voice hoarse, “Because you can fuck off to Japan and do whatever the fuck you want without anyone telling you shit! But I can’t—I can’t leave an abusive piece of shit coach without my name being smeared through the fucking dirt! Despite—despite the fact that all of Russia knows that I’m living off powdered drinks and painkillers,” Her chest heaves, and her face scrunches up, “So I can’t—I can’t fail! I can’t fail—“ She shakes her head, grabbing her hair in her fists, “I can’t fail—I can’t. I can’t!” She stumbles a bit, and Viktor can’t stand and watch her anymore. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He crosses the room in two long strides and grabs her by the elbow. Yuri tries to pull away but his hold is firm, and she’s heaving again. “I can’t fail,” She whispers, “They’re going to eat me alive if I do.” A sob wracks her entire body, and Viktor feels it down to his bones. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, fuck, don’t cry, don’t cry.” She tells herself as she presses a hand to her mouth, but the rebellious tears gather at the corner of her eyes and slip down her cheeks. She looks up to the ceiling, blinking rapidly, to keep the tears from pouring out, and Viktor can see the helpless look in her eyes and face. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sit down,” He tells her softly. She shakes her head again, but Viktor pushes her down by the shoulders, “Shhh, you need to sit down.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This time she does and Viktor kneels in front of her, “When was the last time you ate?” He asks her.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why does that matter?” She asks, sniffing and wiping her nose with the back of her hand.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When was the last time you ate?” He asks again, ignoring her question.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks at him with her watery green eyes and doesn’t say anything. Viktor waits, patiently, not looking away from her for even a moment. When he’s beginning to think she’s really not going to tell him, she answers, her voice barely audible, “Last week? I—I don’t know…I—I ate some celery sticks…a shrimp every night…ice cubes this morning.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Damn that bitch, </em>Viktor thinks to himself. He reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out the granola bar he’d been carrying around since earlier today. When Yuri sees it, she bursts into tears, no longer even bothering to keep herself from crying. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re going to have to eat it,” He tells her and she shakes her head furiously. “Why not?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because I’m too heavy,” She sobs, so unintelligible Viktor has to fill in the gaps, “I can’t—because—“ </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He purses his lips, “You weighed yourself?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods and he has to physically restrain himself from shaking her shoulders and trying to talk some sense into her. He begins slowly, “You are not heavy.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes I am. I—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yurochka there are men twice—<em>thrice</em> your size doing these jumps and I <em>promise </em>you, it has nothing to do with how much they weigh.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s about technique,” He quickly adds, looking up at her tearstained face, “And you have good technique. Even when you were a novice, you had it.” He almost smiles, “God, I almost wish I had been as good as you. Yakov had to beat the cursed flutz out of me for almost two seasons when I first started training with him and then, even when I got older I’d still do it wrong sometimes.” He grabs her hands, and they are so small in comparison to his own it’s almost distracting, but he plows on, “What I’m trying to say is that you <em>can </em>do this. We—<em>I</em> believe in you, and I need you to believe in yourself too. Today is only a trial, even if you don’t do as well as you’d like I will be by your side, and Lilia and Yakov will too.” He pauses, wondering if he should be brutally honest with her right now, he squeezes her hands, the wrapper of the granola bar crinkling between their hands, “No matter—no matter how good or how amazing you are here…you will not—you will not be scored fairly. But Russia doesn’t matter, not right now, what matters is that we get you out of here so you can be judged internationally because that’s how we’ll know how good you really are.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sniffs again, but her tears have slowed down, and she’s looking at him with rapt attention. He wonders if he got through to her, wonders if he’s not fucking this up again like he had with—</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Slowly, she nods, “Okay…okay.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t help the sigh of relief that leaves him. He swallows, squeezes her hands again, and says, “Good. So the granola bar.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She makes a little noise of protest but takes the granola bar with her when she pulls her hands away. She unwraps it slowly and stares at it with disdain.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not going to kill you, Yurochka,” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks at him through wet lashes and something flickers behind her eyes, she looks back at the bar, and then says, “I’ll eat it…if you stop calling me Yurochka.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He raises his eyebrows, blinking in confusion, “Uh…sure..?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hate when people give me nicknames without my permission,” She explains.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah,” Viktor says, “Yuri, then.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes her head, “Not Yuri either.” She pauses and then says “Yura. Just—Yura.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gives her a smile, and she doesn’t meet his eyes, still hyper-focused on the granola bar. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yura,” He says, he looks around the room until he locates the clock that’s sitting on the bedside table, “I think it’s time you start getting ready. Mila is going to be back soon.” And he doubted Yuri wanted anyone to see her like this. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmm,” She mumbles as she takes the first little bite of the granola. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she’s done eating it he tells her he’s going to go in look of some more food for her, she makes a face, but he shakes his head, “You need energy,” He says, “But since you haven’t eaten in such a long time I can give you anything solid right off the bat. So, I’ll buy you a milkshake or something.” Then with more seriousness, he adds, “And we’re probably going to have to do something about this...problem.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He leaves her when he’s sure she’s not going to burst into tears again while he’s gone. When he comes back, he finds her doing her hair in the bathroom, he sits patiently at the desk for her to finish so they can start heading back to the arena. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can you—can you help me?” She asks, sticking her head out the bathroom door.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure,” He says automatically, standing up, “With what?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How steady are your hands?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pretty steady, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” She says as he walks in. She holds up her eyeliner, and her hands shake a little, “How good are you at this?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I am an <em>expert.</em>” He answers jovially, taking the tube from her hands, “I have a certificate and everything.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles slightly, “You better not be lying and make me look like a raccoon.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grabs her chin, slightly tilting it up, “I’ll try very hard to make you look decent.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he’s done, she examines his work in the mirror and says, “I don’t know how valid that certificate you say you have is but it’s not too bad, I guess. I can do better.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Viktor makes an affronted noise, “Well <em>excuse </em>me for not meeting your standards.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks,” She says, rolling her eyes, “Now get out.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Mila comes back to the hotel, Yuri has finished drinking the milkshake sip after painfully slow sip. The red-head looks between them, and when she sees the empty cup on the table she lets out a sigh of relief and she leans against the wall, "Kitten," She says to Yuri, "you need to pay me for all the worrying I do for you."</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yuri childishly sticks her tongue out and says, "Worry about yourself, ugly whore."</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That night, Yuri does good, not amazing, not spectacular—but good enough. And the following day, she does well too, well enough to put a displeased look on Kulik’s face, and Viktor thinks, that’s good enough for now. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>listen...i felt compelled to write this bc i love pain. and suffering. and if i have to suffer you guys can suffer with me... lololol</p><p> </p><p>ps. this might be my last work in this series. I still have this and two other stories to finish but after this idk if I'll continue writing more. only time will tell lolol</p></blockquote></div></div>
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